"911 what's your emergency?"

The dispatcher sits in a small office, the walls surrounding him are covered in papers and drawings of suspects. He leans back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk in front of him, holding a cup of coffee on one hand, and the phone in the other.

"Hello? Officer?" the caller says. He is whispering, and his voice is deep making it hard for the dispatcher to hear what he is saying. He presses the phone to his ear.

"Yes? Hello? Sir? What's your emergency?" The dispatcher repeats after a moment of silence.

"Officer, there's been a double murder on Forrest Street. Two teens, a girl and a boy. They're dead."

The dispatcher is struck speechless. He sits with his mouth partly open, but no words come out. In all the years he had answered calls for the police, he had never once heard a murder reported.

"Uh, ok," the dispatcher says flustered, "is there any other details you would like to report?"

A short silence follows, then the callers low voice can be heard through the phone.

"I'm the one who did it."

The line disconnects.

The dispatcher stares at the phone in his hand in shock for a moment. A minute or two goes by before he finally manages to collect himself. Finally, he sets the phone down, his eyes wide, and reaches for his radio.

"Uh, Frank," the dispatcher says into it shakily, "an anonymous caller just reported a double murder on Forrest Street and... claimed he was the one who did it."

"What do you mean claimed he was the one who did it?" Frank replies after a moment.

"I mean he said he was the one who killed them! He was reporting himself!"

There is a moment of silence.

"Ok," Frank finally says. "I'll have men out there right away."